Month: January 2017

Seven let himself fall from the ceiling. He landed gently on the floor and reached down, picking up the paper crane. He looked back up in the direction that Sven had went.

“What was that?” he said quietly. “How am I supposed to react?”

Seven noticed something. A few minutes ago, he could hardly hold himself together. He could feel himself falling apart. But now, after listening to Sven, he felt… better. He was still shaky, but not like the world was collapsing in on him.

He turned and punched a wall. What was with these people. They kept sending him mixed signals. Was it alright for him to be here or not?

A thought came to him that made him frown. Even with how painful being in Pandora had been, at least it had been simple. He knew what people thought of him, he knew his place, and he knew what his place was. Everything now was so much more complicated. He didn’t know any of those things anymore. Maybe that was the reason that he felt like everything was falling apart.

Life is hard. I feel like it’s going to only get harder. It makes me feel pretty unsure of myself, but I do have the feeling that if I take things one step at a time, I’ll be able to make it through it.

I just have to keep in mind that I am always changing. Never am I the same person, so the person I want to be, really I only have to keep looking at it, and eventually I’ll get there.

It’s the whole idea of you only make a good goal when you’re looking at it.

Never think that you’re stuck being who you are. Never think you’re not strong enough. Never think you’re not worth anything, and never think your past self was better than you are now. Because then you’re looking at the opponent’s goal when you go to make a shot. You’ll only shoot against yourself.

Your past self isn’t you, will never be you, and never will your future self. You are you in this very moment, and you are changing fast. Never doubt that. You are a beautiful, coursing river. So,﻿ just ride the waves a little longer and you’ll change yourself and the world.

Mad Dog was Mad Dog. He never considered anything unless it involved blowing something up. Fifteen years ago, he joined the Ravaging Pain Marauders Incorporated, and he had never once regretted it. He tightened his grip on his fighter’s control stick, feeling the smooth worn leather under his grimy fingers, and smiled. He was eager to taste blood in the air.

The deranged man stared hungrily at the mid-sized modified escort-ship, the kind that often followed cargo ships around as bodyguards, as it passed below them through the narrow chasm of Pikeman’s Pass.

“All you disgusting muts, time to pillage,” the marauders’ boss snarled over the comm.

Mad Dog’s fighter seemed to leap for joy. He petted it. It was like him, ready for a hunt. He thought, What easy pickings. Seconds later, a flash of light blinked past his ship, nearly clipping his right-wing. Terry the Terrier’s fighter exploded behind him, and the shock wave blasted into his hull, rattling his bones and teeth nearly out of his body.

“Was that a bracking HEL sniper rifle? Those festering putrites! Where in this banal world did they find one?”

A man sat in a quiet, well decorated office, rubbing his hands nervously. He looked up at the ornate clock ticking on the wall every few seconds. He hurriedly stood to face the door as it began to open.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. Did you have to wait long?”

“No, sir, not long at all. I had just sat down actually before you came in.” Mr. Johnson shuffled his feet.

“Well, sit, sit. No need to stand for me. I heard you had a business proposition to discuss.”

“Yes, well, Mr. Simmons, what my benefactor wants is rather simple,” Mr. Johnson said as he sat down once more.

“Oh,” Mr. Simmons raised an eyebrow. He sat across from Mr. Johnson. “And what would that be?”

Mr. Johnson liked his lips.

“You see, my benefactor managed to obtain recently a particular drug – a serum, per say – and he was wondering if you would be interested.”